


Roles

by pocketmouse



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketmouse/pseuds/pocketmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory asks Amy if they can trade characters this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roles

Rory flinched as a wad of paper hit him on the forehead. A scribble of letters told him it was Amy's maths homework. He sat up a little, smoothing the paper out. "Sorry."

"Look, if you don't want to play any more, just say," Amy said suddenly, her tone hurt. "You think we're too old for this stuff too, don't you?"

"No!" Rory said hastily. "Well, I mean —" he struggled to find the words. "It's just, it's all the same, you know? Yeah, this week it's lava monsters and before that it was trolls, but —" and here was what he'd been hesitant to say, even to himself. "I'm a little tired of being the Doctor."

"Well if you don't want to be the Doctor, who will?" Amy asked. She got up off her bed, nearly stepping on Rory as she did so. He sighed, and rolled over onto his stomach to watch her. "It doesn't work if there's no Doctor," she said, her voice getting shrill.

"I don't know," he said. "Amy rescues the Doctor all the time, just —" he waves his hand "— I don't know, put him offscreen, you know? Amy and someone else have to rescue the Doctor." Amy didn't say anything. "Forget it, it was a stupid idea."

"It doesn't work without the Doctor," Amy said consolingly. She crossed her arms, leaning against the dresser.

"Sorry," he said. He did like hanging out with Amy, even if all the guys at school laughed at him for letting her lead him around. She was fun. And she paid him more attention than she did any of the other guys, so there.

"Hang on! I've got it!" She leaped over to her closet, pulling things out. "Come here."

Relieved that she's not kicking him out, he stood. Amy pulled one of her skirts off the rack and held it up against him. "You're not that much bigger than me, some of my larger stuff will probably fit you. Try this on."

"What?" He kept hold of the clothes she handed him automatically as she stepped away.

"It's simple. If you're not going to be the Doctor, I will." Amy was already pulling off her top and pulling on the familiar distressed dress shirt. Her hands moved to the waistband of her skirt and Rory turned his head, a hot blush on his cheeks. "So you get to be me," Amy finished.

Rory turned his attention back to the clothing in his hands. "Amy, I can't."

"Sure you can!" she replied easily. "Look, no one else is home til dark, and I promise we won't go outside if you're scared, all right?"

"I'm not _scared_ , Amy, it's just —" he swallowed, words sticking in his throat. "I'm a guy, I can't wear this."

"Sure you can. Come on, up." Amy appeared in his peripheral vision and came to stand in front of him. Rory swallowed, mouth gone dry again, but for a different reason this time. The dress pants hung a little lower on Amy's hips, and the tattered shirt had been tucked in enough to make her curves apparent. The tie lay neatly between her breasts; altogether the getup looked a thousand times sexier on Amy than it had ever looked on him.

Amy took advantage of his stupefaction to tug him to his feet and pull his t-shirt up over his head. "Amy!" Rory jerked back, the shirt getting caught around his head. He yanked it off. "Fine, fine." He picked up the clothes again. "Turn around." Amy smirked, but did as he asked.

Rory took the shirt first. That wasn't too bad, at least. Bright blue, it was a basic camisole, the bust two triangles of fabric, gathered at the base to emphasize the curves they were supposed to contain. Rory didn't have any curves, so the fabric just lay flat on his chest. He tugged at the bottom hem. It was asymmetrical and a little lower than he was used to, but a shirt was a shirt.

But the skirt — Rory swallowed, looking at it. Amy didn't wear long skirts. She probably didn't even own any. She said she'd given him something that was big on her, but that didn't mean much. Maybe it wouldn't fit. Crossing his fingers, Rory stepped out of his jeans and into the skirt, pulling it up his legs.

Of course, he thought as the skirt settled easily at his hips, he should've thought about the fact that Amy dragged him clothes shopping with her all time, and had probably picked a good selection of his wardrobe. He closed his eyes and mentally cursed.

"Rory? You done being the blushing violet now?" Amy turned around without waiting for an answer. "Hm." She raised an eyebrow and Rory felt a shiver go through him as she gave him a critical once-over. He smoothed over the skirt nervously. Suddenly he was glad he hadn't worn boxers that day. "Very nice."

Really? "Thanks?"

"Still missing something, though — ah!" She pointed a finger and moved away. "You need shoes!"

"OK, I _know_ I'm not going to fit your shoes."

"Try these." Amy handed him a pair of wedge-heeled sandals.

He took them, and sat down on the bed. The skirt was snug enough that he was forced to press his knees together, suddenly very aware of his skinny legs. The sandals were snug around his toes, but they fit enough that he couldn't give them back. He stood carefully, testing his balance. "Can we at least have an adventure without a lot of running?"

"I'll see what I can do," Amy said. She was still looking at him. It was strange; he'd known Amy since he was nine, but he didn't recognize the look in her eyes. He smoothed at the skirt again, unsure.

The fabric wasn't any different from his own clothes, but somehow it felt different, just the way it sat on his body. He'd never really thought about the differences in how clothes were made, but now he was hyperaware of it. He shifted his weight from leg to leg, feeling the skirt against his thighs, the way his knees and ankles bent differently in the heels.

"Rory?"

"Sorry," he said, realizing he'd gotten distracted. "This is just really weird." He stepped forward, moving so he could see himself in the full-length mirror. He stared.

Somehow, he'd been expecting something... more. He felt different. But when he looked in the mirror, it was still just scrawny, gangly teenage Rory, looking awkward and out of place in borrowed clothes. He didn't look like a girl, not even a really butch one. "It's still just me."

"Well, yeah," Amy said, sounding confused, and he jerked back from the mirror as he realized he'd spoken out loud.

"When I'm dressed up like the Doctor, I still feel like me. I'm just playing a part, you know? But this is different." He plucked at the top, the sad fabric with nothing to fill it out.

"Do you want to change back?" Amy was still confused. It wasn't fair; she was dressed like the Doctor and looked hot as hell, and seemed to have no problem with it to boot.

"No?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Well, you said lava monsters, didn't you?" A slow smile spread across Amy's face, and something inside him settled. Because he was still just him, but Amy seemed to like that just fine, and if he decided he wanted to think about this skirt thing some more, Amy wouldn't tease him like the other kids might. He really wanted to say something just then, hug her maybe, but she was already moving towards the stairs.

"Well come on, then, Amelia! Lava monsters in the kitchen means takeaway for dinner if we're lucky!"

That evening, as Rory scrambled into his own clothes, too intent on listening for footsteps on the stairs to even think about the fact that Amy was changing on just the other side of the bed, Amy handed the skirt, top and sandals to him.

"You hold on to these, all right?"

"What?"

She shrugged, and pulled her hair out from where it had gotten caught in her collar. "You know. Just in case." She didn't say anything else, so he wasn't sure what to say back, and he just shoved the clothes into his backpack.

Pulling them out again at home, he looked at them again critically. He'd seen Amy wear them. But wearing them himself — it felt different. It felt nice. He didn't know what to do with that. So he hid them under his bed, and tried not to think about them. Until Amy asked if he wanted to try it again.


End file.
